Laundromat

It is a sad fact of life that clothes get dirty.  Unless you don't wear them, but then you get arrested.  Given the choice between jail and going to the laundromat, well, sometimes I wonder.

Yesterday was laundry day.  I schlepped 6 small and 1 large machine loads (2 sets of sheets and a mattress pad, all queen size) to the other side of Huntsville, because reviews told me Squeeky Kleen Laundromat was the best.

Side note: if you can't spell Squeaky Clean, you probably can't provide it, either.

Second side note: yes, Huntsville.  We're back, for a bit.  John has 2-3 times per year when remote working needs to be put aside and he has to show his face in the office.  While we're here, we're visiting doctors and old haunts.  We'll be here till just before Christmas.

Back to laundry.  

There are any number of laundromats in any number of towns in the United States.  I visit one roughly weekly; at the beginning of the adventure, I would do laundry twice a week.  That got old, fast.  I have seen a whole bunch of nice laundromats.  I can point out an outstanding one in Altus, OK, and a pleasant one in Brandon, SD; also a lovely one run by a mother/daughter who should have retired years ago, (Mama is in her nineties and still comes in so daughter can get lunch) in Winchester, TN.  We have been blessed with friends along the way who let us use their laundry rooms for a day.  And then there are the nasty ones.  (There doesn't seem to be a middle ground)  The ones whose owners say, "You can't buy a washer and dryer, you get what you get."  The ones whose clientele upend bottles of soap into already soapy machines, making the next person's laundry (mine, this time) smell of old soap.  The ones whose owners price top loading, agitator machines at $3.50 a pop, and 25cents for 4 minutes in a dryer. (I have paid $15 for a week's laundry.  I have also paid $38)  The ones whose clientele have no choice, because this is the one they can get to.

That was yesterday's.  Although I could have left, and gone to find another, I had driven across town and thought it wasn't so bad (until it was too late.)  Most of the people who were there had walked, and weren't leaving.

The machines had little tricks.  I didn't know them, and didn't figure them out, so it took about an hour longer than it should have to wash clothes.  One of the workers finally explained it to me, albeit it in the Asian language she learned as a child.  The only word I recognized were "push" and "wash."  Thankfully, she took pity on me, and started my washers for me.  My quarters, of course.  Some of the dryers actually dried clothes; that's a common feature of the laundromat.  The locals, who you often don't meet, because they generally don't talk to strangers, know that the one on the bottom row, far left, pumps Arctic air, and the one in the middle, top, will melt your cotton towels.  I have ruined clothes, and lived to tell the tale.

Third side note:  the Behemoth does have her own washer/dryer.  It's tiny.  If I run a load every night, I MIGHT be able to keep half a week's clothes clean.  I can't wash sheets in it; it wrinkles them so badly, stretching them onto the bed counts as strength training.

This one had no counters that were clean enough to fold my almost clean clothes on.  The bathroom, always a necessity when you're coffeed up and listening to wash water running, was clean enough for a barn.  The Asian lady was sweet and smiley, but her bleach blonde counterpart was surly and gripey.  It was a perfect match.

Like all laundromats, there was the couple washing their clothes, only he needed to be instructed on every detail; let the reader understand.  There was the middle aged auntie, walking around, gossiping with everyone about everything.  There was the Latin couple with the chubby, adorable little boy, who was singing the ABC song, over and over.  They never let him down on the floor; good Mama!  There were young college men, learning the art of clean clothes; one was the fella I mentioned earlier, upending his laundry soap.  His clothes are gummy, I'm sure.  And there was the tough, street wise woman with the phone up to her ear, talking loudly through all her laundry loads about all kinds of illegal activities.  

So, no, not one of my stellar finds.  These have to happen, once in a while, when you have gotten lazy about looking for a good one.  I'll be on my toes again, next week.